Doom observes the Women's World Cup and rages at the unwarranted disqualification of the Latveria team. Doom seethes. Doom knows -- as Doom does of all things -- that Latveria's soccer force would have dominated the World Cup and brought further glory to Doom.
But no. In this, Doom -- even DOOM -- was stymied by a bureaucratic horde of narrow-minded pince-nez fops who refused the team entry into the tournament. And why? Because they claimed the team was comprised entirely of Doombots.
OF COURSE THEY WERE. Artificial reproductions of Doom are the only reasonable assembly to achieve greatness, the only proper collection to receive the accolades of a starstruck globe. And those officious official oafs denied Doom the inevitable victory. They think themselves above Doom, more powerful than Doom. Doom chuckles!
Wait for it.
*Chuckle*
Yes, Doom chuckles at their smug impertinence. Doom needs but press this red button, and those administrators will find themselves in a low orbit, drifting past the last shuttle mission. But Doom enjoys the power. Doom is content to know Doom could, if but Doom wanted, to prove his might from across the globe. And so Doom has reason to smile even as Doom is refused his opportunity to prove Doom's glory.
Even in seeming defeat, Doom conquers. Let this be a lesson.
Oh, and Doom raises his goblet to the U.S. Women's team in their banishment of the Brazil squad. Doom detests a cheater, and Doom is looking at you Ms. Fake an Injury, Leap Off the Stretcher, and Run Back Into the Game. This is surely the act of desperation befitting the lowly, such as the Accursed Richards.
Lemon Mustard Grilled Chicken
Assemble before you these crucial elements:
2 tablesoons cooking oil
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard (Doom prefers a honey variety)
1 tablespoon lemon juice
2 teaspoons crushed/dried basil
2 teaspoons lemon-pepper seasoning
half teaspoon crushed red pepper
3 boneless chicken breasts
Doom commands you to mix the flavorings in a bowl.
Doom commands you to grill chicken without baste to lightly brown the skin. Doom prefers to grill inside on a stovetop grill. They are quicker to warm, easier to clean, and smaller to store than a cumbersome outdoor apparatus. Also? Doom may watch TV while grilling. Doom taunts you, Bobby Flay!
Doom commands you to apply a light cooking oil sheen to the steovetop grill and apply medium heat.
Doom commands you to turn once to brown both sides. Only then does Doom permit you to brush mixture onto chicken.
Doom commands you to turn the chicken in 90-degree increments to achieve crisscross browning and cook the chicken for ten minutes each side.
Doom advises this be enjoyed alongside sweet potato fries.
But no. In this, Doom -- even DOOM -- was stymied by a bureaucratic horde of narrow-minded pince-nez fops who refused the team entry into the tournament. And why? Because they claimed the team was comprised entirely of Doombots.
OF COURSE THEY WERE. Artificial reproductions of Doom are the only reasonable assembly to achieve greatness, the only proper collection to receive the accolades of a starstruck globe. And those officious official oafs denied Doom the inevitable victory. They think themselves above Doom, more powerful than Doom. Doom chuckles!
Wait for it.
*Chuckle*
Yes, Doom chuckles at their smug impertinence. Doom needs but press this red button, and those administrators will find themselves in a low orbit, drifting past the last shuttle mission. But Doom enjoys the power. Doom is content to know Doom could, if but Doom wanted, to prove his might from across the globe. And so Doom has reason to smile even as Doom is refused his opportunity to prove Doom's glory.
Even in seeming defeat, Doom conquers. Let this be a lesson.
Oh, and Doom raises his goblet to the U.S. Women's team in their banishment of the Brazil squad. Doom detests a cheater, and Doom is looking at you Ms. Fake an Injury, Leap Off the Stretcher, and Run Back Into the Game. This is surely the act of desperation befitting the lowly, such as the Accursed Richards.
Lemon Mustard Grilled Chicken
Assemble before you these crucial elements:
2 tablesoons cooking oil
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard (Doom prefers a honey variety)
1 tablespoon lemon juice
2 teaspoons crushed/dried basil
2 teaspoons lemon-pepper seasoning
half teaspoon crushed red pepper
3 boneless chicken breasts
Doom commands you to mix the flavorings in a bowl.
Doom commands you to grill chicken without baste to lightly brown the skin. Doom prefers to grill inside on a stovetop grill. They are quicker to warm, easier to clean, and smaller to store than a cumbersome outdoor apparatus. Also? Doom may watch TV while grilling. Doom taunts you, Bobby Flay!
Doom commands you to apply a light cooking oil sheen to the steovetop grill and apply medium heat.
Doom commands you to turn once to brown both sides. Only then does Doom permit you to brush mixture onto chicken.
Doom commands you to turn the chicken in 90-degree increments to achieve crisscross browning and cook the chicken for ten minutes each side.
Doom advises this be enjoyed alongside sweet potato fries.
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